Romione One-Shot: Clean-Sheet Saturday
by OtterPatronus
Summary: Just a little one-shot I whipped up quickly; in which Hermione thinks about their routine. Nothing much really happens, except Rose having a little accident with magic and sending Hermione close to another anxiety attack.


**A.N. So I've never done a one-shot before, but I thought I'd give it a go and I ended up with this.  
It's just a little something I whipped up quickly :)**

* * *

It was half-past-five on a Saturday morning, and Hermione sat alone in her library, reading. These small, peaceful moments came only once a week and so she cherished every last-minute. Ron had returned from a job only two hours prior, so Hermione didn't have to worry about him for another five hours at least. Then there was nine-year-old Rose, who had just begun to develop her father's horrendous sleeping habits (much to her mother's disgust), and therefore wouldn't be up until she was hungry in about three and a half hours time. Then, of course, there's seven-year-old Hugo who was undoubtedly knackered from Grandma Weasley's house the night before.

You see, every Friday, Ron and Hermione would leave the kids at Mrs Weasley's house. It wasn't as if she didn't have the time - so they decided to make use of her while she was still around. You could say it sounded mean, but all parents - Ron and Hermione included - always needed an afternoon away from the kids. Whether that was an afternoon spent in the bedroom (or elsewhere in the house) or an afternoon spent down the pub with Harry and Ginny didn't make much difference. Besides, Grandma Weasley always made sure that they were well looked after.

Hermione had just finished Chapter 13 of whatever book she was now submerged in when she heard the washing machine make its infamous beeping sound to indicate it was finished. She stood up from her comfortable chair and wandered through to where the washing machine sat in what little glory it had. Saturday was also clean sheet day, and so all the sheets would be washed and replaced as soon as the Weasley's woke from their long slumber. Hermione opened up the lid and pulled out all the wet sheets, dumping them in the washing basket. She made her way outside into the chilly May-morning air and hung them on the washing line. Ten minutes later, she was back in her library reading her heart out.

* * *

The old grandfather clock standing tall over her chimed to mark eight o'clock. In the Weasley household, eight o'clock is also known as the time where one _must_ start cooking breakfast, because otherwise you'd have three very disgruntled Weasleys on your hands around half an hour later. Hermione made herself breakfast before making anyone else's because she knew that, that way, she'd finish at exactly the right time to start making everyone else's. So, it was the usual for Hermione: a glass of milk with two slices of wholemeal toast spread with a thin layer of butter. Since the end of the War, she'd been eating significantly less. Whether it was the fact that her stomach must have shrunk during the year they spent on the run or just a general loss of appetite she had no idea. Either way, she could make and eat breakfast in between four and seven minutes, depending on whether or not it was a good morning. After swallowing her last bite of toast she put the dishes in the dishwasher and set about making the 'animal food' - as she called it. She grabbed a frying pan from the drawer and placed it on the gas. As she took the bacon and eggs from the fridge she absent-mindedly ran her hand over the greying scar on her neck that was a constant reminder of her past. She shook her head and told herself to forget it - as she did every morning. Then, as she fried the bacon and eggs, she couldn't help but notice the word 'mudblood' that was practically engraved into her arm. During the day, she would usually cover it with a jumper or something. After all, how were you meant to explain to a nine- and seven-year-old child that mummy, daddy and Uncle Harry spent a year on the run in hiding trying to defeat the darkest wizard of all time? How were you meant to explain that, during this time, their mummy was tortured? How were you meant to explain that a lot of friends and family died in a humongous battle? They still didn't know the truth about how their Uncle Fred died. Whenever they asked, Hermione had to use the age-old excuse of him dying in a car crash. Ron had done his best to forget about having to explain it to them, but both he and Hermione knew that they would have to explain it before Rose went to Hogwarts. They would rather she learnt it from them than from Professor Binns in a History of Magic lesson.

Fifteen minutes had gone already, meaning that Hermione had around five minutes before the first Weasley awoke. As it was most likely to be Ron, she flicked the switch on the kettle and reached up for two mugs. As she did so, her sleeve slid down her arm revealing the scar.

The tiniest of voices spoke.

"What's that on your arm, mummy? Did you hurt yourself?"

Hermione dropped a mug in surprise. "Oh, Hugo! Don't startle me like that!" She flicked her wand and the brown pieces of mug reassembled themselves perfectly. Hugo walked over to his mother and wrapped his arms around her legs.

"If you hurt yourself then you have to get daddy to kiss it better." he declared. As Hermione lifted Hugo up, a certain scent filled the kitchen: soap, vanilla and, most of all, Ronald Weasley's aftershave.

"What do I need to kiss better?" Ron asked, appearing in the doorway. He yawned and stretched, walking over to where his wife stood holding his son.

"Mummy hurt her arm." Hugo pointed to the all-too-familiar scar on his mother's arm. Hermione put Hugo down and pulled Ron into an embrace. He smelt like Home. He was still warm from his shower, his shirt crisp under her cheek. She had her arms wrapped around his body and her head rested against his strong chest. The war had changed him. He used to be tall, lanky and immature. Whilst they were on the run, Ron matured greatly - which, needless to say, Hermione was very thankful for. Since the war had finished and Ron had become an Auror, his figure had filled out more. He was now more muscular and better-fed, his face was fuller and, in Hermione's opinion, just better-looking. Ron withdrew her from her thoughts when he spoke.

"Well then I'd better fix it!" He said. He loved acting heroically in front of the kids. Hermione thought it was because it gave him a chance to show off a little, plus it always made them giggle.

Ron took Hermione's arm and pressed his lips onto the scar. He was being gentle, but warmth rushed through her cold body. His soft lips tickled the broken skin on Hermione's arm making her smile. Ron removed his lips and moved them to where Hermione's where.

_Brilliant_, Hermione thought to herself. _A full on snog in the kitchen_.

"Ewww!" Hugo exclaimed, covering his eyes and sticking out his tongue. Hermione felt Ron smiling against her lips, and she pulled away.

"Go and sit down, I'll plate-up." she patted his chest firmly with one hand, taking care to remember to replace the sleeve over her scar afterwards. If Rose noticed, she wouldn't be fooled by a kiss. Sometimes Hermione was thankful that her daughter had inherited her intelligence, but sometimes it wasn't ideal - particularly when it came to telling little white lies.

* * *

Half an hour had gone by, and two Weasleys were fed and dressed. The third Weasley hadn't yet shown an appearance. "Ronald?" Hermione asked, loading the last plate into the dishwasher.

"Yeah?" Ron replied. He was sitting at the kitchen table, reading through _The Daily Prophet_ as he did every morning.

"Have you seen Rose this morning?" Hermione closed the dishwasher and walked over to kiss her husband on the top of his head. As she did so, she took her time to breath in the apricot scent of his shampoo. His ginger hair was beginning to thin slightly. Hermione had once offered to use a charm on it but he refused. Hermione's hair, however, was still as big and bushy as ever. Okay, so there was a grey hair here and there, but she couldn't complain, really - could she?

Ron shook his head. "Want me to go check on her?" he asked.

"No, I'll do it." Hermione patted her husband on the shoulder and left the kitchen. She climbed the stairs and made her way over to her daughter's room which was right opposite her own. She put one hand on the door and slowly pushed the handle down, trying to be as quiet as possible. When she went to push open the door it wouldn't budge. She tried again: no luck. "Rosie, sweetie?" she called through the wood. "Rose?"

There was no response. Hermione began to panic now - this was not how she intended to spend her Saturdays. In her head she started going through the worst scenarios - a habit she'd picked up during the war. Her Healer had told her not to do it as it had negative effects on her health but in times like this it was natural to her.

It then occurred to Hermione that perhaps Rose was just hiding away in her room. Should she become a stern mother? It was worth a shot.

"Rose Weasley you open this door right now!" Hermione demanded. Still, no response.

Rose always responded when Hermione became stern; it scared her.

_Okay_, Hermione thought to herself. _Just calm down. Calm - down._ Hermione tried to slow her breathing but she could feel her pulse increasing under her scars. She tried the door once more, still nothing. She was trying to think of solutions in her head when she heard the floorboards of the landing creak behind her. They always did that - it was incredibly annoying if you were trying to sneak around after dark and it woke the kids up thinking that monsters were invading the house.

"I came to change the sheets seeing as you-" Ron's voice had sounded behind Hermione. She spun around, her face read with panic. "Oh my god what's happened now?"

"I don't know," Hermione spoke too fast for the words to form properly on her tongue. "Rose uhh - she won't, I can't - I don't know - the door - locked or something - won't budge - I'm not sure -" Hermione continued to babble broken sentences.

"Hermione calm down," Why was Ron always so good at calming her down? He probably got used to it, to be honest - after all of those nights spent awake screaming in fear in the days following the Battle of Hogwarts he probably got used to comforting her. "What is the problem?" He spoke slowly, his voice smooth.

Ron knew he could just get frustrated with Hermione, push her out of the way and unlock the door with _Alohomora_, but he knew that he mustn't do that. If anything, that would make everything worse. After all these years, he'd to learn to deal with Hermione's outbursts.

Hermione still couldn't speak properly, she opened her mouth but no words would come out.

Ron dropped the neatly folded linen onto the cream-coloured carpet and walked over to his wife. He placed a hand on her shoulder and looked into her beautiful, brown eyes.

"I'll try once more," he said calmly. "What's happening?"

Hermione took a deep breath. _Keep calm, you can do this_. "Rose's bedroom door won't open," she breathed, speaking slowly. She closed her eyes because it always helped her focus and concentrate on what she was doing. "and when I call to her I don't get a response." Hermione felt herself being pushed aside and she opened her eyes. Ron was now standing in front of the door with his wand in front of him.

"_Alohomora!_" He shouted.

Hermione heard the lock on Rose's door click and she dived for the door handle. Ron placed his hand gently on her arm and pushed her away. "You go and do the sheets, I'll sort this." he whispered, pointing at the pile of now-crumpled sheets at the top of the stairs.

When Ron was sure that Hermione had gone into Hugo's room, he pushed open the door gently. He then saw Rose lying in the middle of the floor with a gash across her forehead. Next to where her ginger hair lay on the floor was a smashed glass. Ron could already guess what had happened. Before Hermione could come in, he shut the door again and locked it while he tended to Rose. First he repaired the glass on the floor - it took only seconds. He then scooped up his daughter and put her on the messy bed, tucking her in. He drew open the rose-red curtains and opened a window just slightly to allow fresh air and sunlight to fill the room.

Ron then pointed his wand at his daughter's forehead and muttered the words _Vulnera Sanentur_. The gash on her head was removed almost instantly - not a mark was left. He kissed her before standing up and leaving the room.

* * *

Hermione put clean pillow cases on Hugo's pillows, allowing the soft and warming scent of vanilla to waft freely into her nose. She let it distract her, take her away even, to keep her mind from wandering back to what was happening in the other room. She had tied her bushy hair back now, pulling it away from her face. Sometimes it just got too much. She heard a soft knock on the door, but didn't let it distract her from changing Hugo's sheets.

"Yes?" she asked, without even turning around.

"Go and read," Ron's voice was soft. "Let me do this."

Hermione felt him walk up behind her and gently lift her onto her feet. She didn't say anything, just let his strong arms wrap around her gentle frame. Once again she breathed in the smell of him - the smell of home. She buried her face into his chest once more. Sometimes things just got too much for her. _I need a Pensieve_. She joked to herself. She felt Ron pat the small of her back and push her away slowly.

"Go." he said.

That one word was enough to tell Hermione that he wasn't going to let her change sheets. Why had this Saturday become so emotional suddenly? Was it Hugo noticing her scar? Was it Rose? Was it everything from the past three years all piled into one nervous breakdown? Hermione didn't know - nor did she care, for that matter. She just let her legs carry down to her own little land. A land where she could be solitary; alone. A place where she could let her mind wander for minutes, hours, even days on end. Her little library was her sanctuary. It was a present from Ron for their first anniversary; it was like he knew what she needed. It was almost as if he knew that she needed her own little place away from everything.

So, she grabbed her book and opened it to Chapter 19. She let it absorb her; consume her. She wanted it to carry her away to her own place.

A place where she couldn't be found.


End file.
